


Switched

by UltimateFandomTrash



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, This is ridiculous, Winchester body swap, and I love it, i went there, prepare to laugh, yes - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-07
Updated: 2017-03-07
Packaged: 2018-09-30 07:08:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10157021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UltimateFandomTrash/pseuds/UltimateFandomTrash
Summary: A typical hunt involving a witch goes wrong and Sam and Dean end up swapping bodies.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written as a birthday present for my best friend in the entire world. Happy Birthday! And to those of you who happen across this on your birthday, happy birthday to you as well. Happy birthday to everyone!

Sam and Dean Winchester were used to dealing with witches. They were used to identifying when it was a witch that was causing trouble, they were used to killing witches, and they were used to not getting themselves hexed in the process… usually. What they were not used to was taking down a witch who hadn’t even put up a fight. At least, that’s what they had thought. Everything had been normal, maybe even a little too easy, when it came to killing her. So now, the brothers were on their way back to the bunker, ready to dismiss the sheer lack of difficulty in their day.

After showering, Dean settled down into his bed and it didn’t take long for sleep to find him. 

He felt odd when he woke up. There wasn’t really any other way to describe it. After getting restful sleep (a rare occurrence in his life), he thought he’d feel great. But nope, something was wrong. He knew it even before he opened his eyes. 

There was the soft sensation of hair on his face, which confused him because he knew for a fact he hadn’t gone to bed with a woman last night. He lifted a hand to brush it away and ended up accidently poking himself in the nose. But, it didn’t feel like his nose. It was a different nose.

 _Maybe I’m dreaming,_ he thought.

He tried tugging on the hair to get it out of his face, and was punished with a stinging pain along his scalp.

“What the hell?” he mumbled.

Now truly perplexed, and more awake, Dean sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes; another action that felt weird. All of this felt weird.

He yawned and opened his eyes, and there were three things he realized: one, he was in Sam’s room, two, he was in Sam’s _bed_ , and three, the body he was looking down at was _definitely not his_.

A startled scream from down the hall let him know that Sam had just woken up as well. He shivered from hearing his own voice.

With some difficulty – he wasn’t used to his limbs being this long – Dean scrambled out of bed, well, Sam’s bed, and made his way down the hall. His bedroom door was open when he got there, and he saw Sam, in _his body_ sitting and looking at himself in shock. Dean raised his eyebrows and widened his eyes at the sight. He was literally looking at himself. Well, his own body. And… and he was in Sam’s body.

“Dean, do you know what’s going on?” Sam asked, turning to him. When he saw him he paused, swallowing roughly. “Um… Dean?”

“Yeah, it’s me, Sammy.”

He nearly cringed hearing that in Sam’s voice. God, this was strange.

“W-what happened?”

“I think the witch got us,” he answered. “She must’ve hexed us before we got to her, probably so we could suffer even after she died.”

Sam nodded, and then ran a hand over his hair.

“Dude, this is so weird. I mean, short hair?”

Dean pulled on some of Sam’s hair, which was now essentially his. “Long hair? That’s it, I’m gonna go find a pair of scissors.”

Dean turned and was about to leave, but then he heard some scrambling, and a thump, which was shortly followed by an _oof!_ When he turned around his brother was sprawled out on the floor on his stomach.

A laugh left Dean, to which Sam growled at him to shut up.

“You can’t even get out of bed,” he teased.

“It’s your stupid bowlegs,” Sam complained. “How do you even walk?”

He laughed some more. He couldn’t help it. His brother’s distress was amusing. When Sam got up he smacked his arm.

It was startling looking down and seeing his own face, but he brushed it aside and continued laughing. The situation was so awkward he didn’t know what else to do. And Sam started laughing with him.

They were nearly in tears by the time they got themselves under control.

“This is serious,” Sam eventually got out, a bit of laughter escaping with his words, making his remark paradoxical. “How do we fix this?”

Dean lifted up some of his hair. “One, I get this cut.”

“Do _not_ touch my hair,” Sam reprimanded, angrily pointing a finger at him.

“Fine, Rapunzel, I won’t touch your silky locks.”

Sam just gave him a look that told him to quit it. At least, Dean thought that’s what it meant. It was odd seeing Sam’s facial expressions being made with _his_ face. He smirked before continuing, “And _you_ need to learn how to walk again.”

“Do not.”

“Do too.”

“Okay, whatever,” Sam exclaimed. “Let’s just get dressed, get something to eat, and try to figure this out.”

At the thought of getting dressed Dean started entering his room, and at the same time Sam tried leaving. They bumped into each other and couldn’t seem to get out of the other’s way.

“Dean, just move.”

“No, you move.”

“I _am_ moving.”

After some more awkward shuffling Sam let out an exasperated breath, and Dean managed to grab his shoulders. Then he was intrigued. Is that really what his shoulder felt like? He started squeezing his shoulders a bit, and when he looked down at Sam his brother was already passed annoyed.

“You done feeling my shoulders?”

“Your shoulders?” Dean asked, perplexed. “They’re _my_ shoulders.”

“Well right now they feel like my shoulders, so would you just,” – Sam brushed Dean’s hands off him with exasperation – “quit it.”

“Sorry.” He scratched at the back of his head. “So, um…”

And they tried going through the doorway at the same time again. This time Dean was so fed up with it that he grabbed Sam’s shoulders and stated, “Look, I’m bigger so I should get the right of way.”

Sam snickered. “That’s pathetic. You just back up, and let me out.”

Dean conceded with a roll of his eyes, and then promptly crossed his arms and backed up. Sam tilted his head at him after stepping out as if to say, _See, was that so hard?_

Things seemed to be going well as they tried to find something to wear… that was until they actually tried to put their clothes _on_. Dean was at least a shirt size smaller than Sam and his jeans weren’t as long. Which meant, both men awkwardly put their - or rather, each other’s - pajamas back on, and shuffled out into the hallway.

“Yeah, gonna have to borrow your clothes,” Dean admitted.

Sam took in a deep breath, not meeting Dean’s eyes. By this point both men were blushing at the sheer, ridiculous awkwardness of the situation they found themselves in. His younger brother nodded his head, and then they each went to the other one’s room to get dressed.

Dean had one complaint: plaid. There was far too much plaid. Pretty much all of Sam’s wardrobe was plaid. Plaid, plaid, plaid. Okay, he liked plaid himself, and he knew his brother did too, but actually going through his clothes made it really strike a note with him.

“Sam,” he called, “do you have _anything_ that’s not plaid?”

A few seconds later his brother retorted, “Do you have anything that’s _washed_?”

“Hey, I wash my clothes!”

A muffled laugh met him, and Dean just groaned. 

“I can’t believe this is happening to me,” he mumbled to himself.

Once that incredibly awkward task was complete, they tried to get breakfast. However, their coordination was terrible. Sam kept banging into things, claiming that he wasn’t used to his “older brother’s stupid legs”, and Dean had hit his head more than once on some pots and pans that were hanging up over the table he prepared their food on.

They gave up with that and were now in the library, trying to see if the Men of Letters had any information about body swap spells.

Thankfully they did; however, there were at least fifty different kinds of spells that could have done this to them. By the time they figured that out, both brothers were irritable from sheer awkwardness and lack of caffeine, and were hungry.

“Why couldn’t this witch have just tried to kill us like any other skank?” Dean asked, slamming a book shut. 

He put his head in his hands. The day had barely started and he already wanted to go back to bed. Maybe this was all some awful dream.

“She’s definitely got a sense of humor,” Sam said. “I’ll give her that.”

Dean lifted up his head. “There is absolutely nothing funny about this situation.”

As if to argue that a laugh bubbled up from Sam, like he was trying to hold it back.

“This isn’t funny!”

“It’s kinda funny.”

“In what way is this funny to you?”

Sam sobered up a bit and answered, a smile on his face. “Come on, man, I mean, I’m watching _myself_ , but it’s _you_.

Dean stopped to think about that. He’d already dwelled on the awkwardness of this, far too much really, but he hadn’t thought of it from Sam’s perspective. And then it was his turn to laugh. It wasn’t long before their deep, uproarious laughter was echoing throughout the bunker. By the time they managed to get a hold of themselves they were wiping a few tears from their faces.

Dean sighed and leaned back. “You know, maybe this situation isn’t all that bad. When was the last time we laughed that much?”

A giggle escaped Sam. An actual _giggle_. “I don’t think we’ve ever laughed that much.”

“Maybe we should’ve thanked that witch rather than killing her,” Dean joked.

“Nah, killing her was fun.”

“You’re right,” Dean agreed. “It was fun.”

He then pushed his chair in and pulled another book towards him, ready to get back to work again. Systematically going through each spell and trying to figure out which one had been cast on them was going to be a pain, but they had to do it. There was no way in hell Dean was going to be stuck in his little brother’s body forever.

As he leaned forward to start reading some hair fell in his face. “Son of a bitch.”

“What now?” Sam asked.

Dean looked up. “Your god damn hair is too god damn long.” He stood up and declared, “That’s it. I’m taking care of this.”

“No, no, no, no, no,” Sam pleaded, also getting up, and he tried grabbing onto his arm. 

When that didn’t work he barred Dean’s path as he tried to get to his room. He looked defiant; his feet shoulder width apart, his back straight, and his arms crossed. The only thing off about his stance was that he was clearly not used to having to look up at people.

“Sam, get out of my way.”

“Not if you plan on cutting my hair.”

“I’m not going to cut it,” Dean said exasperatedly. 

“Oh really?”

“Yes, really. Now move.”

“No.”

Dean growled in frustration and pointed a finger at him in a warning. “Sammy.”

Dean tried stepping past him, and Sam got in front of him.

“Don’t make me punch you.”

“Don’t make _me_ punch _you_.”

Now they just stared, their expressions set with determination. 

A few seconds passed and then they were grappling with each other.

“Dean, this is ridiculous!”

“You’re ridiculous!”

A fist connected with Dean’s jaw and he stepped back in surprise. The strength behind the blow was powerful, but it was thankfully poorly aimed.

“I was just gonna get a rubber band,” Dean explained. “This mess needs to be put in a ponytail.” He gestured towards the hair that had fallen in front of his face, indicating that it was the mess he spoke of.

Sam huffed, “Fine.” 

He swaggered over to his seat again, and Dean looked back at him, rubbing his jaw.

 

So maybe the ponytail hadn’t been the best idea. The only way he’d been able to get at the hair that was falling in his face was to have the ponytail be high on his head. And Sam was currently laughing his ass off.

“Will you quit it? This is technically how you’d look with a ponytail, so you’re laughing at yourself.”

“But I’m still laughing at you,” Sam explained. “I would never do that.”

Dean wished that Sam would do something stupid so then he’d have something to laugh at. 

His chance came along a few minutes later when Sam started rubbing at one of his ears and then proclaimed, “My ears are kinda cold.”

Sure, it wasn’t as funny as a ponytail, but it was something. 

“Aw, poor Rapunzel misses her hair,” Dean teased.

“You know how I hate when Crowley calls me Moose?” Sam asked, not even looking up from the book he was poring through.

“Yeah…” Dean said, not really sure where his brother was going with that.

“I prefer that over Rapunzel.”

And that sent Dean off laughing again, especially since an incredibly ridiculous image popped into his head of Rapunzel as a moose.

 

The day passed with a lot of laughter, a few more punches, Dean nearly passing out from how many times he’d banged his head, quite a few jokes about height, and Sam’s surprise about Dean not having abs. Thankfully, by the end of the day, they’d managed to figure out how to reverse the spell. It was supposed to be easy, but it wasn’t. They had their lack of coordination to thank for that, which also meant they’d have a big mess to clean up tomorrow. 

But when night fell, the whole ordeal was over. Dean flopped onto his bed and let out a big sigh. He was more than relieved to be back in his own body again. When they had reversed the spell it’d oddly felt like coming home. It was comforting. Honestly, Dean Winchester hated being himself sometimes, but he decided that it was better than being Sam Winchester. And he knew Sam felt the same way. 

With all that in the past, both brothers fell asleep, knowing they’d never speak of that day again.


End file.
